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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26364979">Switching Lanes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrarian/pseuds/Astrarian'>Astrarian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Writer's Month, August 2020 [31]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dark Angel (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Writer's Month 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:34:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26364979</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrarian/pseuds/Astrarian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve got a burning desire to burn rubber,” is what Max says in answer, breaking out a smile for her girl.</p><p>O.C. smiles back. “Just like old times, huh? Aiight. Original Cindy can get down with that. Let’s blaze, Boo.”</p><p>(Writer's month 2020 - Day 31: there was only one bed!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Max Guevara | X5-452/Cynthia "Original Cindy" McEachin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Writer's Month, August 2020 [31]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Writer's Month 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Switching Lanes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have never been to the state of Washington, or indeed the USA. But one of Google's many minor purposes is, obviously, to allow foreigners to study roads in other countries for the purpose of writing fic for nostalgia-inducing TV shows.</p><p>Uses the backstory from the Dark Angel novel 'Before the Dawn' (by Max Allan Collins) for how Max and Original Cindy met.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Max frequently gets this urge to leave the city—get on her motorcycle and just ride out, faster and faster until every thought empties out of her mind except the engine between her legs and the speed of the trees flashing by on either side of the road.</p><p>A lot of the time she can lay the urge to rest by riding around the streets all night, and that’s good. She can keep her job and keep up the appearance of being another normal girl in a FUBAR world. But eventually the urge to speed down a highway grows into a need, and the most she can manage is waiting until after she’s done a lot of deliveries so that it’s less likely her need to not-quite-run will cost her the job at Jam Pony. </p><p>She goes over the Ninja with a loving and critical eye, determining that yeah, it’ll go more than fast enough to blow through the city checkpoint if need be. She jams half her bankroll into her pockets and picks her most featureless outfit and darkest glasses, and she’s halfway out of the door with the Ninja when Original Cindy shouts at her.</p><p>“Boo, we just worked all day, don’t you wanna chill? Where you goin’?”</p><p>Max turns to see O.C. standing with crossed arms in the middle of their space. It sort of chafes to even be asked, as if she has to explain herself, but she knows Original Cindy doesn’t mean it like that. She doesn’t consider herself Max’s keeper. They’re friends, and that means Max can do O.C. the courtesy of saying she’s going out when asked.</p><p>“Just out,” she says with a shrug.</p><p>“Aiight, but where?”</p><p>“Just gonna ride around. I’ll be a while.” She smiles. “Sorry to miss our hang.”</p><p>O.C. frowns at her suddenly. “Last time you said you’d be a while, Original Cindy didn’t see you for a week. You okay, Boo? Anything going on?”</p><p>Max frowns as well, and realises it’s a mistake when Original Cindy’s position shifts, her eyes flitting across Max’s outfit. “It’s nothing like that, but I don’t know how long I’ll be,” she says.</p><p>O.C. nods sharply and says, “Hold up a minute, then. I’ma join you.”</p><p>“What?” Max says, as Cindy flies into action, grabbing a bag. “O.C., no, you shouldn’t.”</p><p>“Why?” O.C. gives her a knowing look. “Whatever you gonna do, I got your back.”</p><p>“I said it’s not like that.” When Original Cindy continues shoving stuff in her bag, she adds, “Look, I’m going out of Seattle. I just need to blow out the cobwebs.”</p><p>“You got a checkpoint pass?”</p><p>“I’ve got ways.”</p><p>“Uh-huh, ways being code for a can of whoop ass,” Original Cindy says.</p><p>“Only if I need to,” Max deflects. “But I don’t want you to get caught up in anything.”</p><p>“We won’t.” O.C. digs around in one of their battered kitchen drawers and pulls out some papers—city passes, Max reads. “I been saving these,” O.C. says.</p><p>“You should keep saving them.”</p><p>“For what?” O.C. asks, which stumps Max. “I didn’t save them for something specific. Just for a trip away sometime. Now you say you’re going. Who am I gonna leave Seattle with other than my girl who brought us here in the first place? Unless you got a burning desire to be alone?”</p><p>Max opens her mouth, but hesitates before she actually says <em> what if I do? </em></p><p>She and Original Cindy met in a bar fight in Eureka, California, and came north to Seattle together on the winding Pacific Coast Highway, O.C.’s arms comfortably locked around Max’s waist no matter the speed. Even though Max had kept the speed relatively leisurely after the first fifty miles, the rest of the hours and miles passed by quick as a flash. It was comfortable, fun—despite it being the start of their friendship, and both knowing instinctively that they each had their secrets, it felt like they’d known each other all along.</p><p>It’s a good memory, one Max hasn’t been reminded of in a while. O.C. knew her even then. Finding out she’s transgenic hasn’t really changed anything. And this excursion is one of the least dangerous things Max is likely to do. If Original Cindy wants to come with her, then really, why is Max turning her down except out of habit?</p><p>“I’ve got a burning desire to burn rubber,” is what Max says in answer, breaking out a smile for her girl.</p><p>O.C. smiles back. “Just like old times, huh? Aiight. Original Cindy can get down with that. Let’s blaze, Boo.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It takes nearly two hours to actually get out of the city, the time being added by Max’s unwillingness to use the interstate. The lack of adrenaline in passing the sector and city checkpoints with legitimate passes rather than blasting through with tires blazing leaves Max absolutely itching to hit the gas.</p><p>“You ready?” Max checks over her shoulder as the final sector policeman outside Tacoma steps away, gripping the throttle. They’ve had an amusing repartee of commentary on the state of the world in general so far, but now Max means business, and that means no more conversation.</p><p>Original Cindy knows it. “Let’s go,” she replies, shifting a little closer and settling comfortably into position, arms around the middle of Max’s body, ready to be responsive to Max’s own shifts in body position.</p><p>A feeling of freedom bubbles up inside Max, and she guns it. The Ninja roars and the tires squeal as they accelerate forwards, leaving the checkpoint in the dust.</p><p>As Max shifts up through the gears, she briefly hears O.C. laughing, <span>the vibration of her chest against Max’s back telling her about O.C.’s enjoyment alongside the actual sound</span>. She grins beneath her helmet. Even once the noise of the Ninja drowns everything else out again, Max still feels her friend laughing, and she keeps on grinning.</p><p>To avoid the checkpoints near Olympia, which is still sizable enough <span>to put her on edge</span>, she decides to head north towards Port Gamble, aiming for Port Angeles along the Salish Sea. There are still folks living there. Then probably follow the road for a while either towards Forks or Neah Bay, depending on how they’re feeling and the state of the road.</p><p>Max and Original Cindy whip past the few vehicles on the road, the leaves on the trees rustling wildly in their wake. The sun sets fully, and even though at any one time half of Seattle is suffering a brownout, the glow of the city at night pushes up into the sky to their east. Like a lot of things, the lights of Seattle must have really been something before the Pulse. Maybe not the trees, though—the widespread chaos of the Pulse and mass emigration to the cities has turned Washington and Oregon back into forest states. This close to Seattle, most of the suburbs are abandoned, and with a decade having passed, they’ve been half-swallowed by trees already.</p><p>Max keeps their speed high, and after an hour has passed they’re approaching the Hood Canal Floating Bridge. It’s amazing it still exists; Max half-expects to find the pontoon washed away and opportunistic, skeevy ferrymen in its place. But no, the bridge is still there, open for passage. She does drop their speed though, just in case nobody bothered to put a sign up indicating a broken bridge and a consequent plunge into saltwater. She and O.C. answer the call of nature at the viewpoint on the other side, which feels fitting, and then they’re back on the road, Seattle receding at their backs.</p><p>It’s there at the edge of the Olympic National Park that Max’s mind finally empties, like water from a punctured bag. The moon rises over her head, pale between the clouds, occasionally throwing a silver tint across the asphalt and trees.</p><p>Perhaps because there’s nothing else in her head except the numbers on the speedometer and the vibration of the roadway, Max doesn’t notice that at some point O.C. slides forward until she’s completely flush against Max’s back. It’s only when Max stretches her shoulder blades for a moment she realises the hard outer shell of O.C.’s helmet is pressing against her spine in the space between her shoulder blades, and that Original’s Cindy’s body is pleasantly warm against her own, especially where her breasts press flush against the back of Max’s ribs and her thighs rest against the outsides of Max’s legs.</p><p>Max briefly squeezes the arms around her waist, now noticing that they’ve loosened a bit. O.C. moves behind her, suggesting she just woke up, which brings Max fully back to reality. Original Cindy tightens her arms and moves them up to lock again beneath Max’s breasts.</p><p>Max pulls off at the next roadside motel, somewhere called Sequim Bay. Although it’s late, it’s a small place, so Max is surprised that the parking lot is nearly full. The sign saying ‘vacancies available’ has been dented with the front of a truck at some point in its life. There’s a gas stop opposite the motel, and she can hear the ocean beyond the high trees that surround the buildings. Sounds like it’s only a few hundred yards away.</p><p>Max flips the bike’s stand out and appraises the trucks and the exit points of the building. </p><p>“You okay to stop, Boo?” O.C. asks, her voice raspy. She climbs off the bike, using Max’s shoulder as a point of contact to keep her balance.</p><p>“Me?” Max fires back, smiling as she takes her helmet off and flicks her hair behind her ear. “You’re the one fallin’ asleep back there.”</p><p>“Worked all day, a girl needs her beauty sleep,” Original Cindy defends halfheartedly.</p><p>“Not this girl,” Max points out. The ride has left a residual buzz in her limbs, which starts to fade as they head inside, leaving a pleasant ache. She could actually sleep, or at least doze, she realises—unexpected, and actually fortunate for once since it’ll help pass the time while Original Cindy rests.</p><p>The clerk at the front desk is the only one awake, reading a dogeared comic book behind a scratched perspex screen. He jumps when Max closes the front door and then glares, eyes narrowing and flitting between Max and Original Cindy.</p><p>“We’ve only got one room,” he spits immediately, clenching his jaw. Bad attitude given the lateness of the hour, or plain old misogyny and racism? Max isn’t sure yet, but his sneer rubs her up the wrong way, causing her to tense up.</p><p>“Well, that’s good, I usually only stop at motels when I’m looking for a room,” she snipes back.</p><p>“Play nice, Max,” Original Cindy mutters in her ear.</p><p>Max chews her tongue and puts her fist in her pocket where her bills are. “We’ll take it.”</p><p>The price the clerk gives her makes her balk, but Original Cindy contributes a few bills to her own welfare. The keys scrape against the desk as the clerk pushes them through the small gap in the screen.</p><p>“No dyke shit,” he says.</p><p>Plain old homophobia as well as misogyny and racism then. Max wants to use the keys to knock his teeth out of his sneer, but instead she casts another measuring look at the trucks outside and listens to the motel around them, trying to judge where all the car owners are and whether they’ll need to get out of here early in the morning.</p><p>“Sorry, Boo,” O.C. says as she unlocks the door to the room.</p><p>Max shrugs. “Like you said, girl needs her beauty sleep.”</p><p>O.C. throws a sleepy grin her way. “And I’m a beauty, aiight.”</p><p>“Damn straight,” Max answers, returning the smile.</p><p>“Not straight,” Original Cindy laughs.</p><p><span>The room’s tiny. The doorway to the equally tiny bathroom lacks a door and instead features a ragged curtain. </span>What Max really cares about, though, is that there’s only one bed and no couch. In keeping with everything else in the room, it’s the tiniest double bed in the world.</p><p>No longer feeling lucky that she could do with some sleep, she says, “I’ll take a walk.”</p><p>
  <span>Original Cindy shrugs off her jacket and drops it straight on the floor. “Not tired, huh?” she asks, fingers undoing the buttons on her jeans. She seems oblivious to Max’s change in mood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max looks away quickly and shakes her head. She takes the key and slips out quickly, with a quiet farewell of, “See you later.”</span>
</p><p>“Mm, night,” Original Cindy mumbles, halfway to falling asleep on her feet.</p><p>Max locks the door before she heads back to the front of the motel. The clerk stares at Max suspiciously on her way out. Max glares back, and lacking O.C.’s good influence at her side, she lurches towards the screen with an outstretched hand. She’s pleased when the guy flinches at her feint.</p><p>She crosses the road outside over to the gas stop, then skirts around the back of the building. Out of sight, she slips between the trees, and alone in the dark a little of her tension seeps away. She pinpoints the sound of the ocean and starts walking.</p><p>She could have handled that better, but given the size of that bed cuddling would be inevitable. She can’t think of anybody that she’d be willing to cuddle with. Not Original Cindy; not even Logan, honestly.</p><p>At least with sex, the other person either falls asleep and thereby allows Max to make a quick getaway, or unconsciousness itself removes Max from the incredible awkwardness of being sexless in a bed with someone else.</p><p>Of course, sex is not on the cards here. She’s not attracted to Original Cindy.</p><p>Well, that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Max has never slept with women, and O.C.’s the only woman she’s ever considered more than once in that context. Max’s attraction is probably more about trusting O.C. than about how she looks, not to do her girl’s physique a disservice. And she’s not attracted to O.C. more than she is to any pretty person, or more than she is to Logan. Certainly not more than she’s attracted to her own intention to not ruin the best friendship she’ll ever have through a roll in the hay that might not even be that fun.</p><p>She doesn’t have the energy to find out Original Cindy’s feelings on the matter, either. They talked about this once when they met, when Original Cindy decided Max was her Boo.</p><p>“I don’t go that way,” Max had replied, because at the time she didn’t. Original Cindy had just laughed, then explained the term wasn’t about <em> that</em>. It would be confusing to backpedal on that now. Anyway, there’s Logan. Sometimes. It’s already tiring her out to think about Logan.</p><p>Lost in her thoughts, Max arrives at a short expanse of mud and sand and rocks that counts as a shoreline, separating Max from the water of Sequim Bay. She sees a rock large enough to sit on nearby and does, tucking her knees up under her chin, as if she’s back in Seattle on the crown of the Space Needle. </p><p>She looks across the water to the shoreline on the other side of the bay. The view hardly rivals the one visible from the Space Needle, and she can’t entirely rest. Still, it’s quiet, and she’s on her own. She needs more time on the motorcycle, for sure, but for tonight it’s good enough.</p><p>By the time she heads back to the motel the moon has shifted enough to mean a couple of hours have passed. The clerk’s practically asleep at the desk when she slips through the door, and doesn’t notice her passing.</p><p>The same isn’t true for Original Cindy. Just because Max can be as quiet as a mouse doesn’t mean she can silence a door lock. It clicks loudly as she enters the room, and O.C. rolls over under the covers, blinking in the dark.</p><p>“Sorry,” Max whispers, trying not to disturb her any further as she takes off her jacket and lays it on the floor. She picks up O.C.’s jacket and silently rolls it up to serve as a pillow.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“Lying on the floor,” she says. “Go back to sleep.”</p><p>“Girl, what?” O.C. grumbles sleepily. “I can share the bed.”</p><p>“No, it’s okay.”</p><p>“You’re making it weird,” O.C. says, sounding more awake, which wasn’t Max’s intention.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>“You’re making it weird,” O.C. repeats, rolling towards the wall. Technically this gives Max space to lie on the bed beside her.</p><p>Max stands in silence, hands clasped loosely around Original Cindy’s jacket. She looks at the bed and the shape of her friend under the covers, and she doesn’t know what to do.</p>
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